The Ruthless Boys (Adamson All-Boys Academy #2)

by C. M. Stunich

  “What are you guys doing here?” I ask as I pull back and then look over at Church. He doesn't seem like the most huggable person in the world, but then I remember him bringing me chocolate and a hot water bottle for my period.

  His eyes crinkle a bit at the edges, and he gives me this cocksure little smile.

  “Come here, Chuck,” he says, and then he gives me a surprisingly decent hug.

  “What the fuck is all this?” a voice asks from behind me, and I turn to find Cody standing just a few feet from Monica. He’s left me alone for the past two and a half months, and now he wants to start something? Told ya he was an idiot. “Do you have your own harem or some shit now?”

  I turn around, still in Church's arms and find Cody glaring down at us. The twins exchange a look as Spencer grits his teeth. We're on a fast track to violence here, and I don't like it. The Student Council mantra for people that piss them off: beat ‘em up. Not that I’m against seeing Cody’s face scraped across the concrete. It’s just not how I feel like starting my reunion with the guys.

  “Is this the cheating boyfriend?” Church asks, taking a sip of the coffee in his right hand. I nod, and he smiles. “I see. He's not worth our time then.”

  “It's worth my time to kick his cheating ass,” Spencer says, but Ranger reaches out and grabs his arm.

  “We have other plans, man. Let it go.”

  “Yeah, take your whore and have fun plugging each other in the ass while you wait for your turn,” Cody snarls, and several of his friends snicker.

  Spencer's jaw clenches, and the twins exchange a look, like they're all about to go in for the kill. Instead, Ranger moves in without warning, locking his arm around Cody's neck and putting him in a headlock.

  “What the he—” Cody's voice cuts off as Ranger squeezes him a little tighter, the muscles in his arms bulging, his face a mask of darkness that would scare the crap out of me if I were one of Cody's weaselly little friends.

  Must work because they all back off a step.

  “Who taught you to treat women like that, you little creep?” Ranger asks as Cody thrashes around, his face turning pink. “Or anyone else for that matter? You don't know shit about Charlotte or her relationship with any of us.” He releases him, and my ex crumples to the ground, choking and coughing. Ranger cracks his knuckles, and I'll admit, this super primal part of me gets all squeal-y at the idea of him stepping in to protect me. But like, I can also protect myself.

  “You cheated on me with my best friend, Cody. And you know what? I just walked away from it. Hell, I even forgave Monica. But you clearly aren't sorry, and you don't see anything wrong in what you did. So … get fucked.” I move down the steps and over to the open window of his Jeep, grabbing the pink feather pen from my bag and stabbing it right into the center of his pretty leather seat.

  “What the hell?!” he rasps out, stumbling toward me, raking his fingers through the frosted tips of his sandy hair. I pull the pen out and stab it another spot, turning to him and lifting my chin in defiance.

  “You're supposed to get a Jeep for rough ‘n’ tumble outdoor shit, not for leather. It looks stupid as hell, and you should seriously reconsider getting a cloth interior.” I shoulder past him, and he grabs my arm, fingers digging into my skin so hard I'm sure they'll leave bruises.

  “Listen to me, you ugly bitch—”

  He doesn't get any further than that because Ranger hauls him back by his t-shirt, spins him around, and decks him in just such a way that Cody drops to the ground like a boneless sack.

  The rest of SCHS watches on in abject shock. Monica even pulls her shades off and drops them on the sidewalk next to her.

  “Let's go,” Ranger tells me as both twins and Spencer grin. Church raises a single brow, still leaning up against the side of some sleek black sedan … I think it's a Rolls-Royce? It suits his personality. While the twins are driving flashy sports car, he's got something elegant and understated. “We've got a long drive ahead of us.”

  “We do?” I ask, as Ranger steers me away, and the twins face each other in an epic thumb war to see whose car I'll be riding in.

  “We do,” Ranger says, but he won't tell me anything else as Spencer slides into the passenger seat of one of the Lambos, and pulls me onto his lap.

  I'm always up for an adventure … especially if the deal's all the sweeter because I get to see my ex-boyfriend's comatose form as we pull away from the curb.

  Karma's a bitch, ain't it?

  “What are you guys doing here?” I repeat once I'm safely seated on Spencer's lap with Micah behind the wheel of the Lambo. He drives like a goddamn speed-demon, and I realize we're in some sort of race with Tobias. Church is driving the other car, the Phantom or whatever it was Micah called it, but he most definitely isn't part of the race. We're leaving him in the dust.

  “It's summer break, isn't it?” Micah asks, glancing over at us as he passes several slow-moving cars on the shoulder. Oh Christ, he's a worse driver than Monica. We're all gonna die. “Why wouldn't we be here?”

  “Did you not want us here?” Spencer asks, lifting a dark brow.

  “You have no idea how excited I am that you're here,” I tell them, just before I realize where we're going. We're heading south, toward Los Angeles. “I'm just sort of surprised you guys came all this way to see me.”

  “Uh, we told you we would, didn’t we?” Micah rolls his green eyes, and then slams his foot down on the gas, shooting us forward into traffic. My body ends up plastered against Spencer's, but I don't mind. No, pretty sure I got the best seat in the house.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, as he takes the exit for I-5 south, Tobias not far behind us. But then we pull onto the freeway, and there's the Phantom driven by Church zooming ahead of us down the fast lane.

  “That son of a bitch!” Micah growls out, grinding the pedal to the floor. We fly down the road while I silently pray to whatever gods will listen that I don't end up dead today. Traffic accident is not my preferred way to go, thank you very much.

  “We've got a surprise for you,” Spencer says, murmuring against the side of my neck and making me squirm. I'm sort of desperate to have some alone time with him, if you catch my drift. Or … with the twins. Although since we’ve never, um, had that sort of alone time before, I’m also nervous as shit.

  “What sort of surprise?” I ask, but Spencer and Micah just share a look and a grin.

  Several hours later, we're at a rest stop while Church refills his coffee and the other boys head for the restroom, leaving the two of us alone in the lobby area.

  “You really won't tell me where we're going?” I ask, but Church just smiles, sips his coffee, and then frowns.

  “God, this is gross. I might have to stop at a Starbucks or something. Not that that'll be much better.” He drinks the coffee anyway, and then refills his cup. “And no. Don't you know the meaning of surprise?”

  “I almost died last week. Don't you feel sorry for me? What if I don't make it to the surprise?” I grab a Styrofoam cup and fill it up, taking a sip and cringing. “Okay, I'm not even a coffee snob, but you're right: this is disgusting.” Church chuckles as I pour the brown sludge into the nearest trash can. “You're still drinking it?” I ask when I glance over and see he's finished half the cup.

  “It's part of my identity,” he says, and I blink in surprise, turning fully to face him and leaning up against the edge of the table.

  “How do you mean?” I ask, tilting my head to one side, blond hair sliding across my forehead. It's nearly a serviceable length now. That, and I straightened out all the curls this morning, so I could look good for the last day of school. I only wish I could've spent it at Adamson with mats in my hair, dirty glasses, and a baggy uniform. And that’s not even a joke.

  “I mean,” Church begins, extending the long length of his arm and letting his cup tumble into the garbage. He leans in close to me, tracing the line of my tank top strap, making me shiver. Is he … actually touching me? I haven’t f
orgotten how he avoided me that day he handed the coffee can over. This guy is seriously hard to read, and so much more nuanced than I first thought. “It's a nice little attribute that people can use to describe me. Who is Church Montague? Oh, he's the Student Council President, and he likes coffee.”

  “Let me get this straight: you chose a personality trait to give yourself?” I ask, and his face drops slightly. I expect that rip-roaring overly cheerful personality of his to come rushing back. Instead, his expression darkens even further.

  “Why not? If it helps people understand me, where's the harm in that? It's not a total lie: I do like coffee.” He leans back again, his expression stuck in contemplative melancholy. Church looks lonely. That's what it is. He looks like me before I found the Student Council.

  “Tell me something real about yourself,” I say, my voice quiet. The only sound in the brick building is the whir from the vending machines. My heart is thumping, and I feel nervous about the other guys coming out and seeing me and Church … standing and quietly chatting? Really, we're not doing anything untoward, but somehow, it feels that way.

  It feels intimate, this exchange.

  “I have five sisters,” he says, but he doesn't smile. “Only none of them are blood-related to me.” He stares at me with those amber eyes of his, this golden boy with the whole world at his feet, and he looks miserable as hell about it.

  “Not blood-related?” I ask, and Church exhales, closing those beautiful eyes of his.

  “Do you know what imposter syndrome is?” he asks, opening them back up again. I shake my head, and he smiles at me, but it's not his usual blinding grin. Instead, it's a soft, sad sort of smile.

  “It's when you're lauded for something you don't feel you deserve, when you're a member of a club you don't belong to. And I don't belong. Everyone thinks I do, but I don't.”

  “Fucking gross,” Spencer calls out, shoving the bathroom door open with his palms as the twins come out behind him, grinning from ear to ear. “You got piss on me.”

  “We did not,” they argue, coming over to stand beside me and Church. The moment is gone as fast as it came, and I'm left watching as the Student Council president pulls himself together, putting on a wry look as he glances over his assorted council members. “We were crossing streams.”

  “Yeah, and some droplets got on my shoes,” Spencer argues as I lift a brow. Wow. Okay, there are some aspects about going to an all-boys school that I don't miss. Constant urinal battles being one of them.

  “Liar,” the twins croon, sticking their tongues out at him and crossing their arms over their chests. I stare at them, and I know technically that we're supposed to be dating, but all I feel is this arduous pull that's half guilt and half desperate, aching, want.

  My eyes shift to Spencer.

  “What are you two up to out here?” he asks, just as Ranger exits the bathroom, and a girl with rose-gold hair walks in, a posse of five beautiful guys behind her. Wonder if her life is as complicated as mine? I think as she gives me a small smile, and disappears into the women's bathroom. Her entourage heads into the men's restroom, and all is quiet again.

  “Just chatting,” Church says, waving his hand dismissively. “Shall we continue? We're nearly there.”

  “Nearly where?” I groan, clasping my hands together in a pleading position. “You have to tell me. At some point, I have to tell my dad.” I frown, but push on. “Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

  “Give us a kiss, and we'll tell you,” the twins says, leaning down on either side of me. I give them each a peck on the cheek and then push them back. Spencer does not look amused, but he doesn't say anything.

  “Okay, so where are we going?” I repeat, looking between the two of them. They just grin and Tobias whips off his hoodie.

  “It's getting cold out there,” he says, stuffing it over my head as I thrash around and try to free myself. It's got that unique scent of theirs, that cedar and vetiver sharpness with a hint of cherry. “Also, we lied. Sorry, not sorry. Hurry up, Chuck.”

  “I'm glad I didn't kiss you on the lips!” I shout as I yank the hoodie down and free my head, glaring at their retreating backs as they saunter outside, cocky and tall and muscular and sexy and full of themselves.

  Dicks.

  “You can, you know,” Spencer says quietly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his black jeans as Church and Ranger share a look, and then move away to give us a moment of privacy. “Kiss them, I mean.” He lifts that brilliant jewel-like gaze up to mine, and gives a half-smile that does all sorts of wonderful things to my insides. My heart starts a gymnastics routine while my stomach twirls like a ballerina. I feel both nauseous and elated, all at once. “A deal's a deal. Besides …” He steps toward me, and I tilt my head back automatically, expecting a kiss, wanting a kiss, desperate for one. “I think this thing we have could go on forever, and I don't want you wondering what could've been. I'm your first, and I want to be your last, so I need you to know you made the right choice.”

  “You could never be considered a wrong choice,” I tell him, but he cuts me off with a kiss that burns so hot, I can't be bothered to resist when he pushes me back against the vending machine. Fire races through my veins, making my skin feel too tight, making me ache.

  Spencer bites my lower lip and sucks it into his mouth, teasing me with a chuckle that I can feel all the way down to my bones.

  “Give Tobias and Micah a shot; I'm not afraid.” He steps back from me and exhales, reaching out to touch the side of my face, his thumb tracing the trembling, aching wetness of my lower lip. “They only thing I'm afraid of is losing them, or losing you. And if they feel even a fraction of what I feel for you, then at least let's give this a try. I'd rather make some sloppy mistakes together than watch jealousy fracture us apart.”

  “You're surprisingly mature for a weed-dealing asshole,” I tell him, pausing as the girl with the rose-gold hair comes out of the bathroom, pretending not to look at us with our weird sexual tension shit going on. She politely excuses herself outside.

  “I'm full of surprises,” Spencer says, stepping forward again and putting his arms around me. He puts his lips to my ear. “Including one that you don't get to know until we get there.”

  He pulls away with a laugh, and I flush, huffing as I follow him outside. As a punishment, I climb in the shiny black Rolls-Royce with Ranger and Church instead.

  They seem surprised to see me, but they don't complain.

  “Any news on the Mr. Murphy front?” I ask, but Ranger shakes his head, ruffling up his black hair with his blue-painted fingernails. He smells like leather and sugar when I lean in close, and I take a deep, quiet breath to savor the smell. Maybe that's weird, but I can't help it. He's this perfect mix of sweetness and danger.

  “Nothing. It was like things died down after you left. I mean, other than the fact that he's been exceedingly nice. It sickens me.”

  “Ah, yes, the infernal problem of a teacher being far too kind to a student. That certainly proves his guilt.”

  Ranger turns to glare at Church as I chuckle.

  “Maybe it's nothing? Maybe he's just a super nice guy who happens to be a junior—like a lot of guys, I might add—and he owns a purple Sharpie and knew Jenica. It could literally be that simple.” I slump back in the cushy leather seats, and pretend like I'm not rubbing my palm all over them, molesting the shit out of that interior.

  “I forgot: peasants do like leather, don't they? Is that why you stabbed your ex's seats? Some sort of French Revolution type rebellion?”

  “And I forgot how much I hate rich people.” I flick the back of Church's ear, but he just grins. “Back to the subject at hand: the murder. No clues about Eugene? Feuds going on behind the scenes? Maybe something to do with the ultra-rich and their politics? My mother's father used to go on rants about the global elite; he was convinced the super-rich had some sort of secret society they used to play the rest of us like pawns.”

  “They do: it's call
ed the Infinity Club, but that's not important right now,” Church says, and my mouth gapes open like a fish. There's a super-secret rich people organization?! What in the actual fuck? “This is nothing to do with that.”

  “Someone—no, three someones—followed me all the way to Santa Cruz, and then came at me with weapons drawn. Seems like a huge conspiracy to me.” I cross my arms over my chest and sigh, bending down to dig into my backpack. It's all I have. The boys insisted they'd buy me anything I needed on this trip, including clothes, shoes, and a toothbrush. Oh, and the twins were very keen on letting me know they'd provide bras and panties aplenty. How generous of them.

  I pull my notebook out and tap the pen against the page.

  “What are you doing?” Ranger asks, turning to look at me with his signature scowl firmly in place. I hold up the pink notebook with the white kitten on the front, and I swear to god he gets this light pink color in his cheeks. “What the fuck is that for?”

  Or … maybe I just imagined it? Yeah, I bet I did. He's a world-class dickhead.

  “It's my super-secret spy notebook, you prick. If someone's going to try and kill me, I at least have the right to play detective, don't I? It's the only silver lining I've got.”

  “How much of Jenica's journal have you read?” he asks, his voice getting quiet and weird all of a sudden. I swallow hard, but I get it. She was going through a lot, dating Rick but possibly fooling around with Lionel aka Mr. Murphy, hanging out with Jeff and Jack. And then there's those hard bits about her and the drugs. Jenica wasn't perfect, but she didn't deserve to die.

  “All of it,” I tell him, because I just finished last night. The creepiest part about her journal is the fact that it ends mid-sentence, like she's still waiting around somewhere to finish that almost bizarrely benign thought of hers. Next week during Culinary Club, I'd like to see if I can't dredge up a bit of competitive spirit by having the team— And that's it. Just that. Nothing else, the last words she ever wrote.

  Well, okay, not the last words.

  There is the strange fact that the torn piece of paper that makes up her suicide note matches the torn edge of the last page in the journal. Ranger didn't tell me that part; he let me figure it out on my own.